


Pluto

by Puniyo



Series: Planets [8]
Category: Figure Skating RPF
Genre: Experimental writing, M/M, angsty and fluff, arguments and more arguments, lemons and sugar
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-03-11
Updated: 2018-03-11
Packaged: 2019-03-29 23:46:09
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,196
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13938003
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Puniyo/pseuds/Puniyo
Summary: The planet of death and rebirth and under the same star as the god Hades, Pluto is the planet of transformation, destruction and regeneration. It is in the nature of the people under this planet to be overcome with obsession and to hold the shackles of control. It is said that beneath the surface of this far and subtle planet, people are in a constant need to find a deeper meaning for their lives and that they come out stronger than before.The final installment for 'Planets'. Yuzuru and Javier confront their fears about their future.





	Pluto

**Author's Note:**

> Hello dear reader! I can't believe this series came to an end. I can't believe I actually finished a project. It feels surreal.  
> I wanted to make this piece more realistic, more actual, and somehow that resonated with people who had to make big choices in life. It is not action packed, it is actually the opposite but I hope you do enjoy anyway. You might find references to other planets.
> 
> The usual disclaimers apply. This is purely from my imagination and its content does not reflect in any way the people mentioned. 
> 
> Feedback is very much appreciated :)

_The planet of death and rebirth and under the same star as the god Hades, Pluto is the planet of transformation, destruction and regeneration. It is in the nature of the people under this planet to be overcome with obsession and to hold the shackles of control. It is said that beneath the surface of this far and subtle planet, people are in a constant need to find a deeper meaning for their lives and that they come out stronger than before._

‘So Javier de la Mancha, what is your next role?’

He has just skimmed through the contents of the brown envelope that Brian had left him before going for a two-week holiday in an ambrosial Greek island far from civilization, far from arsenals of e-mails and landmines of messages, away from the cold and snow in Toronto, straight to the crispy sand and Neptunian waters of the Mediterranean basin and saline crystals that dried on the skin. He wondered if he could do the same right now, rip away the turtle neck jumper and the multitudes of layers he wore, evaporate into thin air and condense again in the Hellenic paradise.

Probably not.

‘Sorry, I wasn’t listening.’

He puts back the papers with schedules and possible timetables for the different sessions for their summer camp, one in Toronto, one in Michigan, and a few dates in Madrid. David Wilson is sitting in front of him, a cup of black coffee in his hand, the tiny packet of sugar left untouched, while he mixed white swirls of milk in his own steamy drink.

‘Do you want to keep the same programs for next season?’

He stops stirring, the metallic spoon still following the motion inertia and hitting the sides of the porcelain cup.

‘I’m… I’m not yet sure.’

They are the only ones in the lounge, the Cricket Club almost devoid of human presence after the competitive season, or maybe just that day. The convulsions of the dish washer and the sound of running water complemented well the opening progression of _Baba O’Riley_.

‘You’ve been Chaplin and Don Quixote these past months, Elvis worked perfectly fine, Superman,’ – David is mentally counting the personalities – ‘we could ask permission for a mask if you want to be Zorro again, or Robin Hood, green pants might look good on you,’ – the frown on his face doesn’t approve on the color – ‘don’t tell me you want purple, we already had enough cameras and love letters with two _Princes_ on the ice.’

Javier chokes on his drink at the thought of himself clad in pants that were not black. At the thought of _someone_ else on those pants last season.

‘Maybe Hamlet with a skull on my chest,’ – He finds the older man’s surprised face even more amusing – ‘let me think about it David.’

‘I will send you some tracks and tell me your ideas later.’

He just nods. They exchange a few more words about the newly updated name plates in the club, about the addition of flags in the rink, about how the Spanish colors will never be taken down, about the upcoming spring/summer menu, about getting a driving license, until the choreographer excuses himself with an appointment he definitely couldn’t miss.

Javier stirs his coffee again, no longer warm. He has lost his appetite but there is something comforting and intricate in the rotating agitation that makes him dizzy but also drives him to continue. He stares at the ice and he can feel himself submerge in that frosted vision if not for the transparent glass wall that divided both spaces. It’s quiet down there, almost as if the vast whiteness wanted to engulf him in one bite.

A young man dressed in black training gear glides in the same rink that hypnotizes him.

_Yuzuru._

He pays his drink and runs to the locker room, hoping that his old pair of skates is still there. He knows the club as his third home, the reception and the offices of the different coaches, the shower stalls and the wooden benches on the corridors. Some things never change – like his name written in blue ink on the small vault that belongs to him only, or his own _España_ etched on his boots.

Old boots with scratches and teared leather – his skates. He runs his fingertip on the silver blades, front to back, back to front, the edges still there and sharp enough for his trade. He puts them on, he laces them in automatic fashion, cross and pull, butterfly on the heel and knot in front.

He will never forget how to tie his skates.

The sudden realization that _he_ might be gone fills him with dread and the adrenaline in his legs rushes him to the ice, now a few inches taller and trying not to trip on the slippery floor.

Yuzuru is gliding on the rink in small outbursts of energy with no directions defined. He is just aimlessly drifting in gentle strokes, drawing serpentine patterns on the surface and feeling the cold wind kiss his closed eyelids, the tip of his nose, his pink lips. He comes to a halt in the middle of that universe that belonged to him only at the moment and he breathes deeply.

_Do you know how beautiful you are?_

Javier sneaks in and invites himself to the trance. He slides a hand to his waist, their bodies barely touching, a canyon of silence between them. They younger man tenses up, not noticing that someone else had entered the same dimension, but he doesn’t look back.

‘May I have this dance?’

He may. He follows the Japanese skater’s rhythm and the cutting wailing of his black blades. They are like two novice boys, balancing on each other’s will not to fall and uncertain whether the ice beneath their feet will break. It is uncharacteristically slow, the Spaniard thinks, and Yuzuru’s unusual reliance on the left side leaks it all. He stops them abruptly.

‘Yuzu–‘

‘Quad sal.’ – He finally turns to look at him, the same dark irises like black holes that drown him in their infinite depth – only more _vulnerable_.

‘What?’

‘Do a quad Salchow.’ – He smiles faintly. – ‘I like your quad Salchows.’

_I like you._

He obeys. He skates to the center of the rink, his frame reflected on the side mirrors. A few crossovers, he gains speed and he leaps into the air. His feet are lead and he opens too soon, only one rotation done as he is pulled down by gravity. He tries again, three-turn and inside edge – the impromptu ballade of his increasing heartbeat and fear assaults him – his hands hit the ice quick enough as he over-rotates.

_I can do this._

He frees his mind of incoming thoughts, of the brown envelope from Brian, of his name on the locker, of the firmness of Yuzuru’s waist – and he leaps again – he soars with a tight grip on his core and a languid taste on his tongue. He lands the four rotations, check position, arms extended and a drop of sweat runs down his temple.

He hears an applause. A sigh of relief materializes from his vocal chords, and he is feeling funny – he is an elastic band ready to snap from fatigue but he mends the cracks immediately with pride.

‘Knee bend. Bend your knees more,’ – The younger man imitates Brian’s voice. He doesn’t sound stern enough – ‘soft knees, soft.’

‘Yes Mr. Perfection.’

A fist hits his upper arm and he pretends it hurts. He watches Yuzuru do another lap around the rink, his powerful glide lacking the usual intensity, his progression lacking his trademark fluidity, and the whole training area lacking the dominant thud of his landings that only he can make it sound delicate.

‘How is your ankle?’

Yuzuru stops abruptly, the second time today, keeping a valley of distance between them.

‘It’s fine. It’s going fine.’

_Has anyone told you Yuzuru that you’re a bad liar?_

‘What are you doing here today Javi? Club is on holiday.’

‘I know,’ – there is an itchiness fumbling his throat – ‘Brian ask me to get information for our camp in Spain.’

‘Good. Maybe can prepare new programs there.' – The younger skater plays with the ice scraps around his feet.

‘Maybe I’ll just keep the same,’ – it’s not itchy anymore. It’s dry and he feels claws scratching the muscles of his trachea – ‘I don’t have time to think about a new choreography.’

Yuzuru finally looks at him in the eyes. – ‘There _is_ time. Javi can still jump well.’

_Why are we having this conversation?_

‘At the third attempt.’

‘It was a nice jump. Good height and flow.’

‘There is no room for mistakes in a competition. _You_ know this better than I do.’

‘People love Javi and come to see you.’

_Do you love me too?_

‘I’m not getting younger Yuzu. Everyone wants more now. Quad Lutzes and flips, you are even trying the quad Axel. I can’t compete with that.’

There is a long silence between them, doors closing from afar and only the ventilation fans ruin the stillness of the place.

‘Coward.’

He doesn’t recognize the piercing coldness in Yuzuru’s eyes.

‘What?’

‘I say you are running away from challenge.’

His nails dig into the palm of his hands and his throat burns. ‘I’m not.’

‘Yes, you are. Run away before they catch you.’

He doesn’t want to hear those words. He tries to calm down but the filter in his brain is short-circuited. ‘What about you? Running away from rehabilitation and from everyone.’

‘I’m not.’

‘You are! Do you think I wouldn’t notice that you are favoring your left leg? Do you think I wouldn’t notice that you haven’t tried one single jump since you arrived? Do you think I wouldn’t notice that you’ve missed the ice?

_Do you think I wouldn’t notice when you are not being yourself?_

He sees the Japanese skater tremble slightly, his body suddenly looking frailer than before.

‘You don’t understand Yuzuru.’

The coldness in his gaze is washed away by a wave of indignation. ‘What don’t I understand? That you are running away? You are young, can perform more, we can go together to Worlds, more podiums.’

‘There is more than figure skating out there. I need to know what that is. I can’t stay here forever!’ – The ground beneath his blades is wobbly and the air is poisoning him. He can’t talk more, he tells himself. He can’t. – ‘And you have to take care of your injury.’

‘It’s _my_ body. It’s _my_ problem.’

He crashes hard against the shore, the mast is broken and the sail is torn apart. He feels the coffee he had this morning convulse in his stomach and it’s nauseating.

_Don’t do this Javier._

‘Everything is easy for the golden boy, isn’t it?’

_Don’t do this, please._

‘What?’

‘You have your family to take care of you. People adore you. They worship you and your name in a prayer every night before they go to sleep. They write about you in their fridges, in their slippers, in their underwear!’

_Stop!_

‘What do I have Yuzuru?’ – His voice is harsh and he feels like a beggar, only to vomit bitterness and… _forgive me_. – ‘You don’t understand Yuzuru. You _don’t_.’

There is no more indignation or the galactic infinity painted in his eyes. Another wave crashes on the shore and the only thing left is _hurt_.

‘I don’t.’

The younger man turns his back to him and leaves. All that is left unsaid will remain in the bottom of the ocean, lost forever in uncharted distance between them.

‘Wait Yuzu–‘

He lunges forward in time to grab his partner’s wrist, feeling the Japanese hectic pulse on his own. Yuzuru pulls himself away from the foreign touch, stronger and rougher than he thought. He yanks his arm away without looking back, his fingers hitting Javier’s face. There is a thin trail of blood.

He watches Yuzuru’s silhouette leave the rink, the distance between their bodies further and further apart.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

The pillow under his neck is made of granite and it grinds his skull with the pestle of his consciousness. The tickling of his alarm clock is an unforgiving symphony of broken strings and he just want to smash it against the wall. He stares at the ceiling, he counts the seconds pass by, and the ice slowly melts around his throbbing ankle. There is only one name in his lips as he closes his eyes.

_Javier._

The name repeats itself over and over in his mind as if, the more he repeated, the more the chance he would appear. He with the same carefree smile and untamed hazelnut locks when he finished the Salchow, he with the same hand that would punch his own reflection for a mistake and leave an uninvited trail of lava on his waist without asking for permission.

_I gave you permission since we first met._

_What have I done?_

He adjusts his ankle to the healing coldness and he hisses in pain. Lateral ligament injury, muscle tendon injury – _I know, I know, I know_ – it’s an injury like many others he had had and he is tired of resting, of looking at the tiny screen of his laptop and see others scar the ice that is his.

_You are running away from everyone._

_I know!_

He throws his pillow to the ceiling, straight to the yellow spot and it ricochets back to his face – a slap to his cheek and he lets out a muffled cry of frustration.

_I am sorry._

‘Is everything okay Yuzuru?’ – His mother asks him from the other side of the door.

_No, it’s not._

‘I’m fine. It was a book that fell. Don’t worry.’

There are no footsteps yet and he holds his breath. She walks away and he almost chokes with the momentarily asphyxiation. Blood rushes to his head and the pressure on his temples gives him a mild headache.

_I am sorry._

He suddenly remembers Javier’s firm handshake in the press conference in Rostelecom Cup in 2011, his open hand reaching for him across the translator and he hesitating to grasp it, not knowing if it was a simple congratulatory greeting or something more. He remembers the same hand in Worlds 2012, this time he retributing the same gesture even when he was recovering from the stab on his Romeo and his name finding its way to his purple lips.

_I am sorry._

He remembers Javier’s hand that always pulled him up when he fell during his first few months in Toronto, the same hand that would massage his shoulders, bruised with a defeated ego for not perfecting a quad, and the same hand that tickled him in the podium in the most cunning manner.

_And your euphoria when you made your name be known in London, your disappointment in Sochi when the scores betrayed you, the tremor in your voice when you called me after Cup of China to say I was too ludicrous, too stupid, too stubborn, too captivating, too beautiful, your seductive Spanish in Barcelona that I still haven’t figured out what you had said and you won’t tell me either, your whisper as we hugged away from the cameras when hope was what I got that night that my legacy would continue, the tremor again in your voice when you called me after NHK Trophy to say I was too stupid again, too ambitious, too selfish, too beguiling, ‘please don’t ever change Yuzu’._

_I can’t do it without you._

The hand that struck Javier now aches, as if he was the one being hit.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

‘Yuzuru.’

‘Can I come in?’

Here _he_ was again, standing in front of the door of his apartment. He moves aside letting the younger man in, not expecting to see him so soon, but wanting to see him _earlier_.

The apartment is the same as always, the ghost-scaring bell sound, the television and sofa in the same place, cat’s fur on the carpet. There are card boxes around, his magazines no longer sprawled on the glass coffee table, his favorite painting gone from the wall and tucked between towels and even his game console is arranged next to his collection of CDs and DVDs in the same container.

‘Do you want to stay for dinner? – He asks.

‘Yes.’ – _He_ answers.

They move to the kitchen and Yuzuru sits at the table, his eyes scanning the surroundings as if for the first time. He notices a single sheet of paper next to the jug of water – a plane ticket to Madrid. Effie jumps to his lap before he can read more details and her purr wins all his attention.

‘You’re fatter again. Javi gives you too much food.’ – He massages her head, her calico pattern as exquisite and unique as he remembers.

‘She’s the one to steal my meals all the time.’

He observes the Spaniard chop onions, slice potatoes and break a couple of eggs in a large bowl. The pan at the stove sizzles in anticipation and he pours the mixture in the heat. He likes his dancing silhouette, the wiggling hips confined in his black tracksuit pants as he flips over what it looks like a pancake and he doesn’t dare to interrupt the music in his head.

Javier brings two plates with him, the smell of black pepper and olive making his stomach grunt in hunger.

‘ _Tortilla de patatas_. Your favorite.’

‘Wait.’

Javier quickly jumps to the cupboard above the sink and produces two pairs of chopsticks. Yuzuru recognizes them – the purple and green one he left there on a whim and the orange and red one he bought for him on their first ice show together in Japan.

‘Who says you can’t have _comida Española_ in a Japanese way?’

They both eat in silence, their unspoken _This is delicious!_ and _Thank you, eat more_ filling the gaps in a telepathic tone. Yuzuru feeds some to Effie, who munches with the same glee.

‘And then you say my cat is fat.’

‘Just a piece.’

They look at each other, their hands merely apart, and their knees brushing each other’s lightly.

‘Have you been to Niagara Falls?’

‘No. Too far.’

‘They’re close. We should go there.’

‘I don’t swim.’

‘You don’t have to swim.’

‘We could stay here and watch movie.’

‘What movie?’

‘Don’t know. Scary movie so Javi can cry.’

‘I don’t.’

‘You could.’

‘We could walk Effie in the park.’

‘Now?’

They both laugh at their silly exchange and the sound is honest and sincere.

‘This is not us.’

‘No.’

The tri-colored cat is upset for being ignored and scratches Yuzuru’s hand. He jolts at the sudden attack and she leaves his lap, back to her corner, sulking for not receiving another portion of the Spanish delicacy.

It’s the same hand that struck Javier.

‘Are you okay?’

He notices that the area under his left eye is swollen with a hardly noticeable dry cut. He caresses that spot trying to make up for his impulsiveness and _guilt_.

‘Does it hurt?’

_It does. It hurts. It doesn’t. It doesn’t hurt anymore._

It burns. Yuzuru’s fingers burn on his skin and their shared morning rewinds on his mind as he leans on the touch. _You’re running away_ , he doesn’t have a choice, _Coward_ , he feels his heart racing, ripping his ribcage and his lungs constricting, _It’s my body_ – _it is also mine_ – he needs to move on, for him, for them, before the passion kills and the desire violate _his_ soul.

_You don’t understand._

He grabs Yuzuru’s wrist and pulls the younger man to him with all the energy he can summon. The Japanese trips forward, his free hand sending the plate with the half-eaten omelet to the tiled floor. Javier catches him on time so he won’t hurt his ankle, and Yuzuru is sitting on his lap.

He can feel the hard bulge on his own and his cheeks turn pink.

‘You don’t understand, Yuzuru.’

Javier kisses him with a crushing force, teeth on teeth, his tongue invading his mouth promptly, not allowing an answer. He kisses him again and again, until his lips are swollen and smeared with the shade of red he loved the most. Yuzuru moans in the kiss and that is all the understanding he needs.

His hands travel down, fast and with only one destination, not bothering to take off the layers of fabric between them. He knows that body more than _he_ does and he knows what makes _him_ writhe and what makes _him_ cry. He unfastens the knot in Yuzuru’s pants and he pulls them down roughly, no warning, and he rubs the hardened manhood, precum in his fingers.

_You don’t understand either Javier._

His shirt smells of cooking oil but it is his scent of lemon and vanilla that drives him insane. He pulls his own pants down, enough to sense freedom and he jerks forward instinctively, their cocks pressed together. Yuzuru grabs the table for balance but the Spaniard doesn’t allow him. He pulls him again towards him so his arms can only hold on to his neck and shoulders and nothing else. _Only him_.

_Run away. Run before they catch you._

He enters Yuzuru without much preparation, only his own precum and his fingers before. But he couldn’t wait and he didn’t want to wait to wait any longer. A painful cry escapes the younger man’s lips.

It rips him apart.

He doesn’t move – he is paralyzed at the sight of his partner shaking in his arms and he hugs him, his face buried in his chest, not brave enough to look into his eyes.

‘Move Javi.’

He doesn’t dare to.

‘ _Move_.’ – Yuzuru whispers in his ear. – ‘ _Do it for us_.’

He thrusts slowly, one time, two times, each time eliciting a cry, painful, no longer painful, more encouraging, more incoherent, more desperate. He thrusts harder, faster, until he is lost in his warmth and he has no idea where his body, where Yuzuru’s body, where their bodies are. He comes inside, Yuzuru comes over their stomachs.

_You don’t understand Yuzuru._

_You do._

He’s afraid to move again, afraid the balance will be gone. Yuzuru’s fingers run through his hair, small caresses on his scalp, on his swollen cheekbone.

_I want you so much._

He cries. He sobs uncontrollably into his t-shirt, his own tears mixed with his sweat.

‘I am sorry.’

Yuzuru embraces him even more gently and doesn’t say a word.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

They are side by side, their fingers interlaced and their bodies completely naked on Javier’s bed. Yuzuru smells of chocolate shampoo and his feet brushes over the Spaniard’s, up to his knee and thigh and down again.

A planet and its moon. To attract and to be attracted.

‘You are going back to Madrid.’

Javier rests on his elbow and looks directly into his eyes.

‘Yes. I have to.’ – He kisses the younger man’s forehead, his eyelids, the tip of his nose. His lips, the same way he kissed them for the first time.

‘How do you feel?’

‘I don’t know.’ – He caresses his chin, his neck, before diving for another kiss.

‘I believe in you.’ He moves on top of Yuzuru and drowns in the serenity of his gaze. He is the one surprised by the sudden kiss this time and he’s not so lost anymore. He presses their bodies further into the mattress, a different kind of warmth igniting between them.

‘And your ankle?’

‘My ankle?’

Javier moves down to the end of the bed. He lifts the injured foot and kisses the skin around it, the toe, the swollen muscles, the round bone. Yuzuru lets out a shy groan, suddenly aware that he was totally exposed in all his glory and that _his_ Javi was enjoying watching him squirm and move from where he was.

‘Yes, your ankle.’

‘It will heal. I will behave and be a good boy.’

They are again face to face, their lips almost touching and their breath tickling each other.

‘You better be. I don’t want people saying I won because the Olympic champion couldn’t fit into his boots.’

‘They will say you lost because you can’t jump quad Salchow.’

‘I did it today!’

‘Only _after_ two times.’

Javier kisses him again, pinning Yuzuru beneath his body as before.

‘Come visit me in Madrid.’

The younger man hesitates for a moment and smiles. He runs his fingers along the Spaniard’s arms, up to his shoulder blades.

It only excites Javier more.

‘Does it hurt?’

‘The ankle?’

‘ _There_.’

Yuzuru pulls him down. The answer is lost in their kiss.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

‘Attention please, passengers for Air Canada, flight AC567, with destination to Madrid, departure time 17:45pm, please proceed to gate B47 for immediate boarding. Thank you.’

He grabs his blue backpack ready to line up with all the people in the same lounge. He throws away the paper coffee cup in the bin next to him and takes out his red passport.

His phone vibrates in his pocket with an incoming message.

[Yuzu, 17:18pm] Have a nice flight. See you in August.

**Author's Note:**

> I'm not closing this series yet... there is one more element missing here. After all... this is the solar system... :P


End file.
